My vices (as some would consider them)
are archaic obsessions,
relics of a Boomer teacher
who proofreads
text messages,
revises emails,
footnotes grocery lists,
explains grammatical constructions
to a husband
who long ago learned
to nod
at her expertise
and look
over her shoulder
at the TV
as if anyone could possibly care
more about an errant apostrophe
in the possessive adjective “its”
than the score
of the Twins game.